. . We shall not fall out about it, Poiret, I dare say?"
he added, winking at the superannuated clerk.
"Bless my soul, you ought to stand as model for a burlesque Hercules,"
said the young painter.
"I will, upon my word! if Mlle. Michonneau will consent to sit as the
Venus of Pere-Lachaise," replied Vautrin.
"There's Poiret," suggested Bianchon.
"Oh! Poiret shall pose as Poiret. He can be a garden god!" cried
Vautrin; "his name means a pear----"
"A sleepy pear!" Bianchon put in. "You will come in between the pear
and the cheese."
"What stuff are you all talking!" said Mme. Vauquer; "you would do
better to treat us to your Bordeaux; I see a glimpse of a bottle
there. It would keep us all in a good humor, and it is good for the
stomach besides."
"Gentlemen," said Vautrin, "the Lady President calls us to order. Mme.
Couture and Mlle. Victorine will take your jokes in good part, but
respect the innocence of the aged Goriot. I propose a glass or two of
Bordeauxrama, rendered twice illustrious by the name of Laffite, no
political allusions intended.--Come, you Turk!" he added, looking at
Christophe, who did not offer to stir. "Christophe! Here! What, you
don't answer to your own name? Bring us some liquor, Turk!"
"Here it is, sir," said Christophe, holding out the bottle.
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